


Rainstorm

by lumesar



Category: Twilight Series - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Everyone's gay, F/F, Fluff? kinda, NOT SAD, Poetry, but there's longing stares and yearning, open ended i guess, sorry there's no kissing, unholy thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:54:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28138761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumesar/pseuds/lumesar
Summary: In 1916, Edythe Mason had a brief encounter with a ghost that haunted her.Almost a hundred years later they meet again, and Isabella Swan has not forgotten about her, either.
Relationships: Alice Cullen/Jessamine Hale, Edythe Cullen/Bella Swan, Edythe Cullen/Isabella Swan, Edythe Mason/Bella Swan, Eleanor Cullen/Rosalie Hale, Implied Carine and Esme
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23





	Rainstorm

_“But here I pray that none whom once I loved_

_Is dying tonight or lying still awake_

_Solitary, listening to the rain,_

_Either in pain or thus in sympathy_

_Helpless among the living and the dead (...)”_

**\- Edward Thomas, Rain**

_Chicago, 1916_

The heavy torrent flushed through the mausoleums, darkening the gray from the tombs, hydrating the lonesome ivy, finally meeting its end into the sepulchral grounds.  
  
Miss Mason’s gainsboro gown stretches as she walks, it’s soaked edges weighing her down as she moves.   
  
It’s an overcast day, and it has been raining since morning. Her determination does not hesitate upon the climate, and there she is, with a black umbrella on her left hand, the right holding onto her skirt so she can more easily walk, knowing that, as the weather is, it’s unlikely one would care about the state of her ankles.  
  
The familiar grave stares back at her, the engraved name of Edward Masen, her youngest brother piercing through her like a sharp ache. How she missed him and his crooked smile. How unfair had it been, that life took him away, at such a young age of eleven, and left them there.  
  
“Things aren’t good these days, Eddie.” She tells the stone. “Mom hasn’t smiled since you left. Dad can only work, and work.” Her voice lowers, trembling. “I wish you were here. They don’t tell me, but I know they would prefer if it had been me to go, and not you.” And that was the saddest of truths, because she could see in their faces how they saw her more as a reminder than a daughter. Her bronze hair was his shade, her green eyes the one had. All that she became after his death was a shadow of what he could have represented, and all his loss of potential. They did not need to tell her when their eyes screamed so.   
  
When Edythe, herself, also believed them.  
  
She was unwed in a time of crisis. All her friends had either fled to the west, thinking they could run from the plague, or refused to leave and died there.   
  
Every sign pointed to a time of destruction and loss, and she could not understand what God would leave them to suffer like that.  
  
 _You could have killed us all together and spared us of this pain._  
  
“I’m sorry for your loss.” A melodic voice whispered above the rain, grasping the young lady's attention. She turns in the direction of the sound and gasps.  
  
There, half behind a mausoleum, masked in between the stone and the ivy, was the most striking figure Edythe had ever laid eyes upon.   
  
The stranger was polemical, wearing only a drenched alabaster nightgown, with untidy raven hair dripping against the sides of her head and stretching almost to her waist. But she could not avoid her gaze even in such state, because everything in her was magnetizing, from her deity like features to her rust-colored gaze, that at that moment accomplished to bury itself in her memory and never leave.   
  
“Are you an angel?” Edythe's voice is high, hiding the fear. _Did you saw it in my face about my complaints about the Lord? Am I about to pay the price for my audacity? Are you the Angel of Death, distracting me with your beauty only to strike me with your scythe?_  
  
“No.” Recently transformed vampire Isabella Swan had a desire to never harm a human being and extreme hunger to do just so. She craved society, but would not dare to come closer to them. Isabella chose to hide where the dead would make her company, hiding into crypts when the living would come near. Her maker had explained things to her, but he also had been clear. If that’s the path you want to go, you are going to spend your eternity struggling against yourself. Be prepared to lose.  
  
She had not lost yet, but she was afraid she might, now.  
  
Isabella should have stayed hidden, but something on the human’s voice had pulled her up like a string attached to the middle of her chest. And it was such a different type of desire, this curiosity, that she tamed the beast, stayed afar, let the rain mask her scent, just so she could be able to have a look.  
  
“What’s your name?” She begs, then, before any other question can be made.   
  
And Edythe, locked into that moment, replies not a moment after.  
  
“I’m Edythe Masen. Who are you?”  
  
Isabella can’t draw attention to herself, and a name would do just so. So she lies, and it hurts to lie to this stranger, but it would hurt even more to harm her, this she already knows.  
  
“I’m a ghost.”  
  
Edythe’s heart leaps.  
  
“Do you know other ghosts?” She points at the grave. “Do you know my brother? Can I see him?”  
  
Isabella’s heart aches for this stranger who so quickly enraptured her, and she wished she was capable of taming the grief on those green eyes.  
  
“How old was your brother?” She inquires as to if taking the request seriously.  
  
“He was just eleven years old.”  
  
Isabella shakes her head, a sad beautiful smile dangling across her full lips.  
  
“The doors of heaven open for the youth, Edythe. Your brother does not walk here as I do, but I must believe he flies up above, and so should you.”  
  
Edythe believes the ghost, in one way or another.   
  
She thinks she would have believed anything that was said on that voice or anything that could have brought her peace, and now she had both.  
  
“Why didn’t the doors opened for you? You should be an angel.”  
  
Isabella shakes her head once more.  
  
“Do not ask about what you should not know. It’s better that you leave for now, with such rain. It does no good for the living.” Isabella knows she already indulged too much in the sight, in the smell, in that brief period. She would rejoice that human contact, until she was strong enough to coexist with them again.  
  
Isabella could not have guessed that the reason she would so often think about this moment was much bigger than just mere socialization. She should have known that Edythe was no mere young woman.  
  
“Will I see you again?” The human spurs, a plea on her breath.  
  
“It would be a blessing if you didn’t, Edythe.” Isabella runs away without saying goodbye, doing so so quickly that it looks like she simply vanished. She’s hiding a few blocks away, on another section of the cemetery, but the redhead does not know that, only staring at that space where just now was a beautiful ghost, and now had only a shadow of absence.

*

Even if Edythe had not dreamt with those auburn eyes for every night that week, even if the rain rose the graves afloat, Edythe would not be able to step back. She returned, once every fortnight, watching her brother’s tomb and, more than once, darting her gaze to the corner of her eye, where she could not tell if her eyes were playing tricks on her or if she saw, for a moment, the enrapturing phantom that made her heart race just thinking about her.  
  
In turn, even if Isabella wasn’t ready to approach humans, even if it was dangerous to the one with copper hair, she lingered from afar, longing for another interaction, knowing it was unsafe to do so.  
  
When Isabella’s eyes turn gold and she knows she’s ready to do so, Edythe’s presence fades.  
  
They never see each other at that cemetery again.

*  
 _Chicago, 1918_

  
The disease crept like a thief in the night, or perhaps a thunder roaring over a weak foundation: it crumbled them down almost simultaneously, one by one.  
  
Her feverish dreams floated in front of Edythe’s eyes when she should be awake: instead of seeing the caring gaze of her doctor, it was instead visions of her parents, when everything was still good and everyone was healthy. It was her small brother, Edward, running around and laughing with joy.  
  
And the sight of the ghost drenched by the storm, lurking on the edges. If it wasn’t for the striking blonde hair and Carine’s voice, she would often imagine the phantom where her doctor should be.  
  
When her dreams faded, only the fever remained. It crawled over her veins, hid in between her bones, found her spirit, and crushed it.   
  
Edythe was convinced that every sinful thought of hers had been discovered, and now she was paying for them, instead of being reunited with her family in the Heavens.  
  
Except that the fire also dissipated, and the mouth of Hell only swallowed her deeper. She woke in a world where every pain, every complaint, every agony anyone registered was hers to know, the voices of the damned screaming inside her head, louder than her cries to stop than her pleas to mercy.  
  
It was only when the kind doctor's voice hushed her over to solitude, and her voice was the only one around, that Edythe was able to focus, to hear, to understand.  
  
To discover what eternity had reserved for her.  
  
And, in the back of her mind, as she comprehended this new reality, Edythe felt like there was something she forgot, something that was missing.  
  
To think it was a “someone” would only cross her mind a hundred years later.

*

_Washington, 2005_

Another high school cycle had begun, and whenever they started anew, Edythe would remember the beginning of that existence, and wonder if it wasn’t this the real hell.  
  
Of course, it was a joke, considering that, as a supernatural creature, she had much more to be concerned about than her schedule inside those walls. Still, it was a joke to be made, and Eleanor would laugh at it. Rosalie would not mind the joke, but smile lovingly seeing the laughter bursting from her eternal girlfriend and wife.  
  
Alice, predicting a mood out of Edythe, would distract her with once more of her silent conversations, most of the time surrounding Jess, who struggled so much with control.  
It had been a moment just like that when Alice froze, staring at Edythe like she saw a ghost.  
  
The others noticed.  
  
“What’s wrong, Ali?” Jess would ask, her constant hunger subsiding as the concern for her mate overcame everything.   
  
But Alice shook her head, confused. It appeared that every time she tried to focus on the vision, it slipped from her mind, like if it was slippery.  
  
“I don’t know.” She’s honest. “Edythe, can you hear something going on?”  
  
The mind reader focuses on the humans around in the cafeteria. There are the usual gush and gossip that seems to follow teenagers wherever they go. There’s excitement, over a new student. It doesn’t seem like something Alice would have a vision over, but Edythe still dedicates a moment over their memories. She doesn’t get much of it at first, only flashes of a person hiding on an oversized hoodie.   
  
It shifts when said person enters the cafeteria. For a moment, she’s still seeing things from outside of her head, but she soon returns to her perspective.   
  
Everything happens at once.  
  
The new student moves forward to the Cullen table, and Edythe realizes she can’t read her mind.  
  
The new student stops by the table and pulls her hood back, assessing the vampiric family with golden eyes of her own, but it’s not that that stops Edythe in her tracks.  
  
It’s her face, just as familiar as it is a stranger, with high cheekbones and full lips, ivory anywhere that isn’t her hair, raven dark. It's the phantom memory of a white nightgown, reaching her mind, but not quite.  
  
“Edythe Masen?” Her voice sings and brings back a feeling of excitement, of hope to see a lurking figure in the corner of her eye.  
  
Suddenly, it all floods through at once, the image of the stranger angel against the ivy on the mausoleum talking to her during a thunderstorm.  
  
“You’re not a ghost.” She feels like there were a thousand other things she could have said, things she should have said, considering her job as a protector to her family. Anything other would make her sound less like a fool.  
  
But the stranger smiles.  
  
“I hope you can forgive me for that lie.” Her tone is courteous, everything about her pulling her in.   
  
Edythe’s dead heart sings, and it could not be more clear. She did not need to assess Jess's mind to solve that mystery, nor have access to the mind in front of her.  
  
“As long as, moving forward, you don’t lie to me again.”  
  
Isabella’s Swan smile is full, this time, as she extends her palm towards the other vampire. Edythe does not suffer from any hesitation pulling her hand over hers, and when she does, the absence that echoed from her first moments in that new life fades.  
  
She found her mate.  
  
 _Again._

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to Ivy, from Taylor's Swift newest album, Evermore, and this one shot was all I could see (even if the lyrics are really off from the concept). I left it open ended and wrote the whole thing in one go, because that's what I do when I start writing long fics, I procrastinate them with one shots. I just loved the concept of them seeing each other before knowing they were meant to be and then the second time it just clicking, you know? 
> 
> (Because of the size there are a few things about Bella that are unanswered and there was no way to insert those answers in the plot but she knows about her shield, in case you were curious.)  
> (I'll admit I hate the name Jessamine, and I think that's like the only reason this one shot wasn't Jas/Alice of some sort, lol.)  
> Hope you liked it!


End file.
